"Around every circle another can be drawn."
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Circles."

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

good shepherd

When Mary birthed Jesus, 'twas in a cow's stall,

With wise men and farmers and shepherds and all . .

. . If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing . .

. . He surely could've it had it, 'cause he was the king.

-- Appalachian carol

God, endow the king with your own justice,

his royal person with your righteousness . .

. . For he will rescue the needy who appeal for help,

the distressed who have no protector.

-- Psalm 72

We
can't remember which central American country this créche comes from,
but every year we struggle to separate the kings from the shepherds.
They all have fancy hats and carry something in their right hands (an
expensive gift or a lantern?) But this guy, we're fairly sure, is a
shepherd -- he bears the crook in his left hand. The mystery of the
créche is the yielding of one power to
another, of might to apparent impotence. Kings bow to a squalling blob
of protoplasm, born to poor people of a
despised race in an obscure corner of empire. Shepherds and beasts are
the watching courtiers. The trumpet of incarnation is the lowing of a
cow.

"Your
rod and your staff, they comfort me," sang the psalmist, likening the
divine auditor of his song to a shepherd. The people who assembled the
scriptures were city dwellers, who had come a long way from the tending
of flocks; but they kept the pastoral imagery alive as a discipline on
the powers to whom they appealed. The shoot of Jesse, the heir of David
whose arrival Israel awaited as national savior, would be strong enough
to overthrow the conquerors but tender enough to take care of those who
could not save themselves -- a good shepherd, who would leave the
ninety-nine in their safety to seek out and save the lost sheep. They
trusted, hoped he would forestall the abuse of power, the
nickel-and-diming of farmers to less-than-subsistence day-labor, the
extraction of wealth by elites for profitable trade with the goyim.
And when they imagined God, the author of such authority, they hoped he
would put his thumb on the scales of justice for those who could not
throw the weight of wealth.

The Day of the Lord, the arrival of the Divine Domain, was always to be a day of reversal. Congratulations to the poor, for they are the heirs, but to hell with you rich, who already have your compensation. Change
your minds, said the prophets, because the kingdom is closing in. The
people against whom the game is rigged, the people who haven't a chance,
are about to get their chance, and you addicts of their degradation
will feel withdrawal pangs of your privilege.

No matter how much they had picked, it wasn't enough.

-- I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings*

Most of the world's hymns to hard work and its moral value are written by people who have no idea what hard work is.The
wealthy dream they are not debtors, and we of the middle class claim
the right to whistle while we work, either for work's compensation or
for its intrinsic delight. But there is work
that kills and pays so little that it can never ennoble the worker. Some
work pays so little that it won't in the long run keep the worker
alive. We hear a lot of songs today about the beauty and saving power of family life, but a family can't thrive on terror and turmoil.

Keeping
peace therefore is the crucial task of legitimate power, and there is
no peace without justice. In my city and in others, we are questioning
our peacekeepers; and they shout back that those who question are
murderers. There are some who can't control their rages but have learned
to hide them behind a badge. There are some who can't see a dark skin
without seeing monstrosity and threat, and they clothe their blindness
in a coat of blue. These few wolves are the enemies of many good
shepherds, destroyers of their work and of the flock; so why do the
shepherds protect the wolves?

Our mayor has spoken in public the words that parents say to young black men: bear in mind the baseless suspicion and ancient anger that may at any moment light on you.
And a past mayor has said the present mayor must apologize for creating
a climate of distrust. But the distrust already exists. If the mayor of
old times doesn't know this, he doesn't know any black people. Or he
isn't listening to them. Or worse, they are hiding the truth from him and we
must ask why; the willfully ignorant are responsible for what they don't
know.

We've
all got to grow up, and that includes policemen. They are licensed to
be good shepherds. A good shepherd is, among other things, an adult.

The word is out, and there can be no peace until we all address it. No compromises please. Not on this. Compromise can only bring us phoney peace.

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Hollis Huston is a theologically trained Unitarian Universalist who is frequently invited to preach in congregations of his faith. He works as a board-certified hospice chaplain in New York City, serving clients of many faiths while discovering his own.

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Hollis Huston is a theologically trained Unitarian Universalist who is frequently invited to preach in congregations of his faith. He works as a board-certified hospice chaplain in New York City, serving clients of many faiths while discovering his own.